


The name’s Baby, B-A-B-Y, not Darlin’, Cowboy.

by Mirdala



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Blow Jobs, Car Chases, Counter Sex, Deadlock Gang, Deadlock Jesse McCree, Dom/sub Undertones, Driver!Reader, Early Blackwatch era, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Gun Violence, Hand Jobs, Implied Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jesse is a brat, Orphaned, Other, POV First Person, Pre-Blackwatch, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert, children having to survive in war, maybe? i dunno, no details just mentioned, past child soliders, reader puts him in his place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-03-21 05:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13733874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirdala/pseuds/Mirdala
Summary: You don't know the plan. Not really. Reyes says drive, you drive. That's how you meet Jesse McCree.





	1. Midnight ride

**Author's Note:**

> Watched Baby Driver again and I just wanted to do a one shot with Jesse and Reader doing crazy car stuff cause why the fuck not. 
> 
> I need more car chases in the OW universe. 
> 
> Just have fun with it.
> 
> No beta.

The way I see it, Reyes will always be goddamn angel. Just like his namesake. Gabriel. But you see Gabriel isn’t the herald of God like the Archangel in the good book. Well I ain’t sure how good a book is that…well that’s for another time. Anyway, Gabriel Reyes is my personal angel. In a way he is the herald of messages they just ain’t from any god. This was his latest one.

**Route 66. Panorama Diner. Deadlock Gorge. 2230.**

This message brought me to the one person who will forever change my life. Jesse McCree.

But before we get to that I need to give you skinny on yours truly. The name is Baby. B-A-B-Y. Grew up in the Crisis. Learned to hotwire and drive anything with a wheel, tires or no tires, even a few things that don’t have a wheel. I met Gabriel and his rag tag team when I could barely see over the dash board. They needed fast. I was the fastest there was. Driving straight into laser bolts or whatever the big ol’ omnics shot at us. Dodging and weaving. Jackie, Ana and I were the distraction. Causing a ruckus, I will always be proud of, second only to a certain night with my sweet Jesse but we ain’t there yet. Reyes and Liao were the scalpel while Biggy and Smalls were the hammer. Went without a hitch. I begged them to take me with them. They couldn’t. Had the next big bad robo to kill across an ocean. Left me in the dust.

They knew though what would happen to me. Kid raised in war. Knowing only one thing for all their life.  I was in and out of custody once the dust settled. Minor status saved me most of the time when I got caught. I wised up and went faster. No one could catch me. Only an angel could reach me.

Reyes found me a few years after the Crisis turned into the Cleanup. Said he needed a driver. Paperwork was fudged. Kept my name and gained a garage full of whatever the hell I asked for. Reyes took me with him where ever he needed a driver. Now though he ain’t with me. Still have a job though.

Deadlock Gorge.

But I’m going in solo and undercover. Well, not really under any sort of cover. I went in as a driver. My name is Baby. B-A-B-Y. Ain’t too far from the truth. Just gotta try to not get shot. Or caught. Think getting caught would be the worst.

So here I am. Parked. Outside a rundown diner. Moon bright as a spotlight hanging in the sky. The clock hits 2230. I flash my lights. Three individuals, I’m sure of the most disreputable of demeaners walk out and get into my car.

“So fellas. Where we going? And how soon do you wanna get there?” Words cool and calm. No a care in the world.

“Twenty-five north. Fast.” I give a wicked grin.

“Best get moving then.” The shifter is slammed into gear. The tires spit up rocks and dirt as we circle in place before rocketing off to the intersection of Route 66 and 25.

I cruise on the 25 with damn near boredom. The three in my car are wide eyed, only one of them has a wide grin. That’ll be Jesse but I don’t know that yet. A self-driving truck is their mark. Their job is to hop on do something, I was not informed about and don’t rightly care to know. I just know I need to pop my car’s top. So I do and the wind comes rushing in and a curse is let out at a hat almost being flung into the darkness.

Gas pedal to the floor and yes I am driving a good ol’ car that takes gasoline. Blasphemy I know, I know. But things are a bit different here and I couldn’t very well bring down my favorite hover car. Might get bullet holes in it. Reyes picked the car. I just fiddled with it to my liking. Gotta say though, the roar of an honest to heavens engine gets my kicks going.

I line us up along the unmanned truck real smooth like. Never mind we’re going about 140KMh. I could do this all day every day. Guess it’s just my luck that I am. Two of the disreputable fellas shake a leg and shimmy over to the truck. The third stays with me. He crawls into the passenger seat. Hands a bag over then settles in.

“Shouldn’t be too long darlin’.” The fella yells at me.

“Baby.” I shout back.

“What?” He calls back.

“My name is Baby. B-A-B-Y.” I give him once over noticing the hat. Don’t even make sense since it’s night. “Not Darlin’, Cowboy.”

“Apologies, Baby.” His grin stretches a smidge wider. I give him a quick wink. He’s about to say something but is interrupted by flashing red and blue lights. Rude. Don’t they know the future love of my life is about to introduce hisself to me?

Things get a bit hairy after that. Seems Reyes in his infinite wisdom and self-amusement tipped off the fuzz. Well guess its high time for some theatrics.

“Ya got a gun, Cowboy?”

“Sure do.”

“Truck headlights as soon as we get infront.”

I push the car to race forward and get ahead of the truck. The cop car, wait no cars. There’s three of them. They follow me like ducklings after their mama. But there’s just enough of a gap for me to shut my lights off and my future ex-lover to shoot out the lights of the truck. I swear it was nearly love at first shot. I glide us to the other side of the truck and slow to drift back down its side and snap us right behind it. Duckling cops none the wiser.

We share shit eating grins with each other. A solid two seconds of eye contact before the back of my car is rammed and we are jolted forward.

I swerve to the side before we are rammed again. They move up into our spot us along side them.

“TIRES! SHOOT THE TIRES!”

“THEY AIN’T GOT TIRES.”

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” I left of the gas just enough so I can drive the front of the car into the ghost riding cop car’s rear side. They struggle to keep themselves straight as I slam them again. I pull away wide looking to use to use the distance for a stronger hit. They prep for it too thinking they’re smart. I pull the e-brake at the last second. They slam their rear side into my front and I bore into them further pushing them into a tail spin.

My fella lets out a whoop and the fellas on the truck call for a pick up. I reach the front of the truck again and they scramble back on.

I call for them to hold on because as much fun and romantic as it would be to dance with my cowboy around Santa Fe at one in the morning. Ain’t the time for a joy ride. That’ll happen two nights from now. On another job.

I spin us around 180 degrees. The fellas get pressed against the interior. Toss the car back into gear. Smash the fence median. And speed off into the night.


	2. Ghost of Santa Fe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You decide to show Jesse, speed isn't everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tone is different this chapter and the chase is shamelessly pulled from Drive so I could practice a few things. 
> 
> Enjoy.
> 
> Tags are updated. There isn't anything explicit, no flash backs, just hard truths the reader reflects on. But I wanted to tag it just incase.

After returning the fellas back to the diner I followed them in and saw my guardian angel sitting at the counter. Reyes is part of my not-so-undercover cover. The handler for the driver. Something about a temporary partnership. The end game is above my head and I’m fine with it being that way. He isn’t wearing the hoodie I’m positive he bought in bulk ten years ago or his beanie. The sides of his head are buzzed, nearly shaved clean, the top has waves of black hair tamed just enough to go backward, a long coat and a well-cut suit underneath. Still in dark greys and gun metal black though, with red accents. I can just picture Jackie being a blubbering mess when Reyes goes walking around all fresh and dolled up. Had to hide my grin when I walked to him. I toss the keys at him, his hand snaps out and catches them

“How’d it go, Baby?” Pocketing the keys, he watches me step up to the counter.

“Peachy keen.” I pluck up a coffee mug.

“What, he your _daddy_?” It’s almost a sneer from one of the fellas. I’m not impressed.

“No. But I’m sure if you asked nicely he’d be yours.” I say bored and apathetic while I slide the pot of coffee off the bar counter and pour. My buzz from the drive is wearing off. Lovely, I look into my mug, boiled dirt. Reyes gives a bark of a laugh. The cowboy who will lasso my heart snickers. I nurse my mug and find a booth as far away as possible while still being in the diner and have eyes on the situation. My job done for the night. Pick up the crew, drive them, drop them off. Now I wait. Bored.

Reyes and the fella speaking on behalf of Deadlock chat. They go over plans. A robbery or something. I’m busy eyeing the cowboy. He catches me because well, I’m not exactly being subtle about it. He saunters over and slides across from me. Black leather chaps and all. He shucks off his vest with the Deadlock colors on it. Tips his hat back so I can look into his dark brown eyes. I can see the slight splash of freckles over the bridge of his nose. Along with the peach fuzz trying with all its might to resemble a goatee.

We chat. I find out he is just like me. One of the thousands of nameless and undocumented Crisis kids. Children of the Crisis. Whatever. During the war information databases on the general public were attacked digitally or physically. To cause chaos. To hinder locating one another. Birth certificates, death certificates, marriage licenses, driver’s licenses, records of fingerprints and DNA.

All gone.

Those who had the forethought to grab their important documentation while running for their lives were in the clear. But the kids crawling out of the rubble with a blood smeared face or wandering around lost not able to find their parents missing a shoe or foster kids simply forgotten about, were left high and dry. Disaster relief programs only had some much space.

A lot of us slipped through the cracks. A significant portion were swept into gangs after wandering around after fighting in the war in some capacity, usually in the form of make shift militias. Or just plain trying to survive it. Being brought to the brink of human existence shattered all sorts of moral and ethic codes. Hell, it still goes on nearly 20 some years later with the MEKA program to an extent.

But enough of the social commentary.

The point is, when Jesse gets taken in by Overwatch in a month’s time, he’ll say he is younger than he is because he’s smart. Banking on a lesser sentence. Similar to when I said I was older than I was to join Reyes. Both of us looking for the best possible outcome of a shitty situation. In truth we’re the about six months apart and don’t even know it. 

“You’re pretty good behind a wheel.” He breaks the silence first.

“I know.” I reply back, sipping my dirt boiled coffee.

“Makes me wonder what else you’re good at from behind.” His tongue swipes his bottom lip. Fucking tease.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Leaning forward just bit while setting my coffee mug down.

“Sure would.” I realize then he’s a got a big mouth. Gives him a dazzling smile I’m sure he flashes to his advantage.

We don’t get any further than that because Reyes calls me over and we head out. He had another job for me.

Which is why currently, I’m parked outside some warehouse in the middle of the industrial side of Santa Fe two nights later.

I know what you are thinking. A crazy chase in downtown Santa Fe at night, spinning and weaving all over the place. I know for a fact it's what Jesse expects. But sometimes the best course of action isn’t always speed. It’s smarts. You’ll see.

I got Jesse and another fella as my cargo. They are in previously mentioned warehouse doing something within the five-minute time frame we were given by our bosses. Jesse isn’t the first back in the car after three and a half minutes, it’s the other fella and he wants to boogey. Because the alarm is going and Jesse is nowhere to be seen.

“Come on. Where the fuck is he?” Quiet mutters fill my backseat.

 _“Dispatch, Patrol 11 enroute to code 30. ETA one minute.”_ Crackles next to me from the police scanner.

 “Come on. Idiot. Don’t wait for him. Just go.” My eye jump from mirror to mirror looking for the cop car. I was told to give them five minutes. So Jesse gets a full five minutes. I wait.

With fifteen seconds to spare Jesse bolts out of the warehouse. A stupid grin on his face revealed when he pulls off the black ski mask. He hops in the front passenger seat. I give him an inquiring arch of an eyebrow.

“Go, go, go.” I tighten my grip on the leather steering wheel of the hovercar and wait ignoring the panicked words from behind me.

“Baby, we gotta—” I hold up a finger and press it to my lips turning to Jesse. Polite universal signal to shut the hell up. I peer into the rear view mirror and see a patrol car pass the intersection. I pull out into the street nice and easy. Like a proper law-abiding person.

Coasting down the street, Jesse’s face is illuminated each time we pass under a streetlight. The yellow light tints everything about him. He’s no longer smiling. Face set hard, eyes scanning the cars around us and into the passenger side mirror. The speed of the car has him and the other fella fidgeting with tension. Nervous energy looking for any way to expel itself. Jesse works his jaw back and forth, chewing on something that isn’t there. The words, oral fixation come to mind.

The police scanner breaks the heavy silence.

_“Be advised, silver hovercar late model possible vehicle in question.”_

Immediately I pull to the side behind a cargo van and shut the car off. I keep my eyes on the driver side mirror. Seconds tick by. Jesse sits clenching and unclenching his leather gloved fist. The fella in the back hunched low in his seat. One of the two of them is breathing hard. The repetitive push of air becoming white noise. A patrol car rolls into view slow and steady. I move a hand to the ignition the other goes to the two o’clock position ready to turn the hover pads on the car sharply. Poised, I wait.

_"Unit 54, 89 th and Kaplan, clear.” _

The patrol car continues on. We’re back in motion. The scanner crackles again.

 _“Air unit requested.”_ Shit.

_“Roger, redirecting drone.”_

I snap my eyes up. Jesse leans forward and looks as well, I press a hand to his chest to set him back. Don’t need his pretty face gawky straight into a camera. Reyes has taught me some tricks of the trade. Maintaining the speed limit, we remain on the pavement. Even used the blinker to make a right turn. Above us we can heard the drone approach. It’s search light landing on spots of the bridge sporadically on the other vehicles on the road.

_“Visual on suspect, westbound on 89 th street bridge.”_

I gun it. We shoot past cars on the bridge, a few horns blare at our tail lights swerving in and out of traffic. We make it to an underpass and I break hard, throw us into reverse and throw an arm behind Jesse’s seat to see out the rear window. We take it slow again following the underpass for a bit. I turn the hovercar around, facing the way we just came. Jesse and I look pointedly to the scanner. We hear the whirl of its blades. See the spotlight dancing around looking for partner in us.

_“Dispatch lost visual on suspect vehicle.”_

_“Air Unit, possible gang shooting in progress, disengage and proceed to—”_ The fella in the back lets out a groan of relief. I purse my lips together bringing us back under the yellow of the streetlights. Jesse presses a hand to my arm, giving it a slight squeeze and me a lopsided grin.

 _“All westbound units suspect vehicle last seen on 89 th street bridge.” _Again slow and easy. Just other generic silver hovercar doing things and going places. We pull up to a stoplight. Jesse takes in a sharp breath. The fella in the back looks like he’s about to make a break for it. Lucky for me he stays right where he is. Because the cop car across the intersection would see and that would be bad news for everyone. The crosswalk signal starts to blink. A cool blue light caressing the side of our car and faces. It turns yellow, numbers replace the figure of person and start to count down.

 _Ten._ I check the line up.

 _Nine_. One car in the lane next to me.

 _Eight_. Two behind me.

 _Seven_. One next to cop car in the turning lane.

 _Six_. Jesse slides his hand off my arm and moves to his revolver.

 _Five_. The fella in the back shuffles around, loading the shotgun in his hands.

 _Four_. _“Dispatch possible suspect vehicle at stoplight. Stand by.”_

 _Three_. _“Roger.”_

 _Two_. I drum my fingers over the wheel.

 _One_. The crosswalk light blinks out and our light turns green.

Half way through the intersection, red and blue lights strobe at our side then whip behind us. I stomp on the pedal.  

The lights of the streetlamps and neon signs flash past and my eyes are almost dry from not blinking. Jesse presses himself in the seat, jaw tight and clenched. If we had tires our wheels would be squealing when I make a hard-left turn. Fish tailing it just a bit down the side street, pushing the engine to go faster. A hard right. Jesse braces a hand against the dash. The fella in the back makes a thud and huff at the harsh motions. We have maybe a block of breathing room. An open parking garage becomes our haven. I roll over the speed bump faster than intended.

“There.” Jesse says it the second I see the empty spot. I swing the hovercar in and throw it in park.

We are out the car before it even settles to a proper stop. The fella takes off. I fit a baseball cap on my head and remove my jacket. Jesse smoothly links his arms with mine, takes the jacket from my hands and tosses it over his shoulder, hooked on his index finger.

We walk arm in arm out of the garage. Mixing into the nightlife crowded streets.

See, speed isn’t everything. Learning patience to ghost about is just important. However, my skills in patience ends there.

When Jesse and I round a corner a few blocks away I swing him against the wall of an alley, trapping him with my arms on either side. Well not really. If he wanted I would easily step aside. If he wanted.

“Enjoy the ride?” 

“Ten outta ten. Would do again.”

Outlined in flashing neon lights from clubs and stores, we kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Jesse's age is always a factor when writing him in Deadlock. I see the OW universe, especially Crisis era darkly. I firmly believe there are a lot of displaced kids running around, case in point is Sombra, that very possibly don't know who old they are and despite being the near future there isn't a way to determine age without a plus or minus 2 years. So for this story Jesse and Reader are around 18-19 and can pull off looking 17-21 if they really try. 
> 
> And yes I know its fucked up that Reyes would enlist individuals so young and that's kinda the point. And if I keep this going it'll become a bigger issue with both Jesse and the Reader not being happy about it.


	3. Cruisin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Jesse have some down time to drive around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter because I didn't want to go into the next driving action scene just yet. I'd rather just go for a nice drive with Jesse.

“Ever think of just going?”

“Going where?”

“Anywhere. Get in the car, hit the road, no plan, just go?”

 “No.”

“Cause of yer boss? Payin’ some debt off?”

“Yes and no. I owe Angel my life. But he wouldn’t stop me if I wanted to leave.”

“Then why don’t ya?”

“I…dunno. Cause I got no one else.”

“I’d go with ya.”

“…what? Seriously?”

“Hell yea I would, Baby.”

On the hood of my car, I sit with Jesse laid out between my legs, his back to me, head resting under my chin. This is one of our new things. Sitting on the hood of my car, engine still warm from whatever job we just finished and look up to the stars until they faded into the next day. We talk, one of my hands stroking his brown hair the other on his chest picking at the white shirts he wears or clasped in one of his own hands. Right now, he is holding on to my thighs, thumbs sweeping over the same stop, wearing a hole in my jeans.

He turns over carefully not to elbow me or slam his head into my chin. Such a considerate gentleman. He kisses up my neck to my ear.

“Wouldja take me with ya?”

“Depends on if you’re worth the trouble.” He gives a breathy chuckle in my ear, hands sliding up my sides.

“Oh I’m sure I can show ya, I’m well worth the trouble.” Wide mouth breaking into a sly grin. We ignore the buzzing of my comm on the dash inside the car. Got myself a fella that knows how to show me a good time.

Another thing we picked up was cruising down the interstate between jobs with the windows all the way down or the top off, depending on the car I had at the time, with Jesse’s boots on the dash stretched out, a hand under his head, the other resting on the inside corner of my seat, finger tips brushing against my shoulder. Or he’ll swing around boots off and lay his feet in my lap. And just stare at me smoking a cheap cigar or out the windows singing whatever song comes to his mind. Most of the time he sings about walking a line because I’m his. When I get a car that has a bench seat he’ll slide right up to my side and wrap an arm over my shoulders. He’ll nip and tickle, kiss and whisper the sweetest things into my ear. He’ll slip a hand down between my legs and keep me from driving straight.

We’ll blast music singing at the top of our lungs throwing our heads back in laughter. Pretending we are anything but ourselves. I’ll weave the car lazily between the empty lanes of the long-forgotten stretches of road. We stop at every diner we see. Jesse always charms the waiter or waitress. At gas stations, Jesse raids the shelves of snack and drinks like a kid in a candy shop. Got a might fine collection of postcards. Jesse writes love letters on them and leaves them in the back seat.

In the city we bait people into races at spotlights. Jesse calls out insults and we never lose. We bet on who will crack first, the kid in the car infront of us or us while we make faces at them. The kid usually wins, breaking out into a fit of giggles in victory. I’ll chase Jesse around at the car wash with the hose or the bristle brush foaming with soap. We end up soaking wet without fail. In drive-in parking spots we discuss the finer points of roller skates and hover boards, of leather chaps and wearing cowboy hats at night, munching on fries and devouring cheese burgers. Parked in a field, a movie being projected on a sun-bleached billboard we tangle our legs together and feed each other popcorn. I erupt into laughter when I scare Jesse during a horror flick and he chucks the popcorn bucket all over us.

Laying in the back seat, flat bed or on the roof of the car, we explore the planes of each other’s bodies. We were only caught once. The officer let us off with a warning as we were still mostly clothed. Cause hell if I don’t know how to show a fella a good time.

Racing down abandoned channels and spillways become my personal favorite thing. Seeing Jesse hoot and holler the entire way, drumming his hands on the dash when I redline the engine. Hanging out the window yelling. I spin the car into figure eights and donuts. Jostling our bodies against the interior of the car. Doing half spins and speed off in reverse. Flipping us back around without notice. Drifting around turns. His smile is always the widest then.

If I find the right spot, I’ll take us of off road into the desert and I’ll show off kicking up a cloud of dirt a mile high. Through the haze I see Jesse’s eyes shine with excitement. When I come to a stop he leans over the center console and kisses me hard and hungrily. His hand will cup my face and I’m left breathless.

I hesitate every time when turning back the way we came.

After another job done, the crew and I walk into the Deadlock club house. They give me claps on the back and praises.

“Kid is a demon behind the wheel, Angel.” Reyes smiles with pride at me.

“That’s my Baby.” I catch Jesse clenching his fist and narrowing his eyes nearly glaring at Angel’s back.  

Sideswiped. That’s what happened. I am completely sideswiped with how hard and fast I fell for Jesse McCree. In a few weeks Overwatch would be hitting Deadlock’s club house and I was suddenly struck at how much it’s gonna hurt when they drag Jesse away in cuffs, if he isn’t killed in the assault.

_I’d go with ya._

“Baby did you hear me?” I’m pulled to the present by Jesse talking to me. Shouldn’t be zoning out on the job like that.

“No missed it. Sorry. What’s going on?” Jesse looks at me hard, studying my face. I try with all my strength to keep the worry from my face.

“We got the signal.”

“Got it.”

“Baby?”

“Yea?”

“I’ll be right behind ya.” He gives me a quick kiss before getting out of the car. A motorcycle engine roars to life behind the car.


	4. Sunroof Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another job brings you closer to the bust on Deadlock. Best enjoy the time you have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAGS HAVE CHANGED!!! RATING HAS CHANGED!!!

Jesse, completely naked, crowds me while I’m hunched over a holo-pad watching me tap the screen inputting numbers to calculate the window of time and distance we have for this next job. I ignore his warm skin pressing against me concerned more with the window to make the trade, in short, is small. The window is very small. I am very glad the job wasn’t happening in the middle of the night with just the moon and my headlights. Suppose I’ll take that as my first stroke of luck since there’s light during the rising of the sun. When I’m done and share the information with him, he playfully doubts my abilities. He knows it’ll rile me up and want to put him in his place. He gets like this every so often, the little shit that he is. Wants me to pin him to the mattress in my mediocre motel room. Wants me to make him a flustered mess. If I’m feeling just as randy I’ll play hard to get. Get him to really work for it. But right now, working him over is the perfect type of distraction I need. There’s a lot of trouble on my mind.

But he’ll still have to work a little more for it.

I shove him away and move off the bed to the kitchenette to get a drink, tossing the holo-pad at him.

“Ain’t no shame in knowing your limits, Baby. If your hands aren’t fast enough for this…” He slinks off the mattress to stand next to me, hip against the counter, arms crossed, a wide slanted grin on his face. I step close to him poking his bare chest with my index finger.

“Oh, I know my limits just fine.” I splay my hand against his skin, cool against my hand, then glide it to the side to thumb over his nipple. My other hand coasts up to reach around sliding from the back of his thigh to the roundness of his ass cheek, resting the heel of my palm at the lowest part of the small of his back. My fingers massage the top of his ass, middle finger stroking right were his cheeks cleft.

“Also happen to know yours.” Stepping to his side I take my hand from top of his ass to reach further and grip his hip pressed against the counter. I pull making him twist to face away from me, the expanse of his board back bends forward a bit as I press against him. He hums with a questioning tone.

“I don’t rightly think you do, Baby.” Jesse says over his shoulder, bracing his hands on the counter top.

“Let me remind you.” I sink my teeth into the crook of his neck. Jesse gives a small buck of the hips and sharp inhale.

With just enough room from the counter, I slip my hand down from his chest, skirting over his ribs, he squirms a bit ticklish to my touch. I press firmer, down all the way to the base of his cock. But rather than give him what he wants and expects, I use the back of my hand to rub the inside of his thigh. Finger tips grazing his balls. My other hand stops stroking just inside of his hip bone to trace up his other side, around to his back, over his shoulder, pausing at the dip where his collar bones meet to then trace up to his jaw. I tilt my head to the side, so I can see the side of his face. His eye is half way closed, face slack. I can feel his slightly parted lips, the scar that intersects both of them. He looks to me, a hungry stare, nearly a dare, a challenge. I place a kiss on his shoulder blade. Challenge accepted.

I take my time caressing his body. A map I’ve already memorized. The cigarette burns on his arm. The lines of the tattoo on his forearm, lifted from still being fairly new. Small healed cuts on his sides, a few on his belly. A patch on his flank from sliding across pavement at a high speed. Jesse’s breath stutters. He’s antsy. He’s about to say something. I see the tension in his back and neck trying to keep himself from pleading for me to do something more. I show him a bit of kindness and help him out. I tip two fingers into his mouth. He latches onto them instantly giving a hum that’s almost a groan of relief. It’s a move that’ll pacify him for only a bit longer. By now I’ve got his cock in my hand, pumping slow and firm. Full pulls from base to tip, with a squeeze at either end.

Knowing he is nearly at his wit’s end, I pop my fingers from his mouth to rest my forearm across his back. Together with the hand at the base of his cock, I guide him to lower his chest a bit more, to press his ass into the frame of my own hips. He moves so easily, damn near putty in my hands. It stirs a heat in my middle that nearly makes me forget the game we’re playing.

With Jesse now in position, I press my wet fingers against the outside of the pucker between his cheeks. He definitely gives a groan this time. I plant light kisses on his back to relax his tightly wound muscles at the light prodding. Doesn’t take much doing, he falls back into putty. The sigh he lets out and drop of his shoulders encourages me to push into him. The motion draws out a whine I wasn’t expecting. I piston my fingers into him slowly just like my hand around his cock. His knuckles are nearly white, fingers digging into the countertop as I work him. He wants me to go faster, wants me to be rougher. Just before he starts to buck between my hands, I dip to the floor, dropping my hand on his cock. Jesse lets out a whine at the loss, but I speed up my fingers in him, scissoring just slightly as I pump into him, to make it up to him. I pat his thigh with my now freed hand, pushing up into the meat of his leg to get him to lift his foot. I lead it to rest on my leg where my foot is planted on the floor firmly to stabilize me while my knee and foot on my other leg take most of my weight. Jesse, nearly bent over the counter at this point, shifts his weight to his other leg. I’m sure he doesn’t want this to end prematurely due to the discomfort of hard title floors. The view is spectacular. His ass jutting back to me. I give his cheeks little nips and kisses before I snake my hand under his leg and continue my stroking from before.

A wide flat drag of my tongue up his inner thigh to his balls pull a sound from Jesse’s core that makes a sense of satisfaction burst in my chest. I hum as I engulf one of his balls into my mouth. I drive deeper into him and tighten my grip. I suck and swirl my tongue. If I keep going at it he’ll finish sooner than I’d like.

Can’t have that.

Got a point to prove.

I yank myself completely back and away. His foot falls from its perch. Jesse doesn’t have time to sag into disappointment from neglect. He yelps, having to do a little hop to keep his balance. Sitting on my heels look up with a wide grin. He whips around eyes set in a glare, lips ready to rebuke. I don’t give him the curtesy. I swallow his cock whole. All anger drains from his as he leans backward. I tug his leg, directing it to hang over my shoulder. With more space I dive back into him. He bucks when my two fingers enter him at a different angle, thumb massaging just below his hole.

“Baby. I---hng ---I ain’t gonna---last. Baby!” Wrong again. He lasts longer than he expects because I know how to work him. I know what he can take. I give it to him again and again. Pushing him the edge but never over the cusp. He’s shaking and panting. Sweet sounds of him whining for more mixes harmoniously with wet sounds of my mouth and hands. I could listen to him till the end of time. Greedily I stretch it out. Wring every cry, every tremor, every gasp from him I can get. The sight above me is just as heavenly. I burn the images of his chest heaving and glistening with sweat, his neck stretch back showing me how my work has his body coiled from groin to throat.

I make him come down my throat the second he opens his mouth to start begging. He gulps down air body still tight from the onslaught my hands continue to deliver.

“You got one more. I know you do. Give it to me Jesse.” He winces when I mouth his spent cock. I keep talking to him from between his thighs.

“Come on Jesse. Beautiful. So goddamn beautiful.” I nose into the crease of his groin and thigh. He lets out a whimper. “Gimme another one.” Kissing and nipping. I drift my eyes up to look into his nearly blackened ones, only a thin ring of his deep whiskey brown showing, glazed over in bliss. I slam into him and hold the pressure against his walls. He clenches up, rolls his eyes up, a groan deep from chest spilling out. Shudders from the final release I give him.

This time he does sag, head lolling to the side. I hurry to my feet to support him. Between the counter and myself, Jesse wobbles to the side against my embrace.

“To think you ever doubted me.” I tuck my face into the side of his neck. He gives a tired laugh that’s all smiles.

“Never again, Baby.” He says between pants and burying his face in the crook of my neck. I stroke his hair and let him rest against me. I hum satisfied my point has been proven. My cocky cowboy put in his place. I pull away to give him a soft lazy kiss. He makes it sloppy and deeper.

My comm gives a buzz. I let out a sigh. Retreating away from his warmth and touch.

“You can apologize to me later. We gotta go.” I swat at his side heading to the shower.

“You sure?” He follows me a bit taken aback. “I’m sure I can squeeze in an apology before we need to leave.” The water runs warm enough for me to hop in.

“I’d rather you take your time when you give me an apology, honey-nuts.” I grip his hand and drag him in with me.

I’ll need the distraction.

____________________________________________________________

The usual blessed sight of Jesse seated on his motorcycle, his long legs snugly wrapped in brown leather chaps, booted feet planted on either side digging into the dusty ground, hands resting lazily on the handle bars, does absolutely nothing to ease the tension in my gut. Neither does his firm frown lifting just a bit as I cruised up to park just ahead of him. Instead dread plummets to the bottom of my stomach, a familiar sense of watching a car accident unfold right in front of me. Of knowing the havoc about to be wrought and having no way to stop it. The days leading up to the bust on the Deadlock rebels are the slowed seconds before the cars collided, metal twisted, bodies went crashing through windshields, and I could only sit wide eyed as it happened.

He wouldn’t be in the car for the job, one more of my ever-dwindling supply of blessings spent. With trouble on my mind, having him in the seat next to me would have set me on edge even more. Instead he is riding alongside my car on the empty road, motorcycle under him roaring with the chilled wind of the beginnings of the morning. Looking to the side I don’t see his charming brown eyes. A white Deadlock skull looks back at me, painted on his helmet where his face would be, wings outstretched on the sides, he accelerates forward leaving only the lock on the back of the helmet for me to fix my gaze on. His patched vest also serves to notify others of his affiliation, my heart aches. I’ve been trying to think of a way to get him out of the bust safely. Maybe take him for a drive that day. Maybe warn him of the bust. He’s gonna be angrier than a rattler woken up from a nap. He might not even believe me…that I truly am sweet on him.

That I want him safe.

Want better for him.

Be there for him.

With him.

Jesse slides close to the driver window to get my attention. He pats the top his helmet, before jerking a thumb to the back. The four others escorting me close ranks, two on either side of my ride with two leading the way in front. I peer into my rear-view mirror. A small plane coming in low behind me. The sound of its engine adds to the symphony of rumbles around me.

I grip the steering wheel, twisting my hands around it. Job first. Saving my cowboy outlaw later.

I hope.

I hurry to match the plane, we don’t have long before the road goes into a bend. Not the longest stretch of highway or the ideal. The road had long been abandoned since the war. Only certain things were fixed after the war, others left to the hot sun and coarse sands of the desert. The car shakes out of sync with the plane’s engine when it gains on me, directly overhead. A flip of a switch opens the sunroof. Modified to be a bit larger. I get a quick glance at the figure hanging out of the paratroop door. Two thuds and a metallic clunk signals the transfer. The figure hurries to slide three crates into my car each stamped with dragons forming a circle by chasing the others tail.

“Delivery complete.” I hear behind me, words with a touch of an accent.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” The figure releases their boots from the roof of my car, hauled back in to the plane, which veers off to the right as I continue to the bend going left.

Jesse give me a thumbs up. As I nod back my car jolts side ways toward him. I yank the steering wheel to avoid side swiping him. I franticly look to my left as a scream over comes the roar of engines. One of the escorts is pinned between my passenger door and the driver door of another vehicle. A truck tries to grind the Deadlock rebel and their motorcycle into me. The driver gives me a toothy manic smile and laugh, face painted brightly in neon colors.

Los Muertos.

Gunshots follow.

I duck my head, not sure who is doing the shooting. Cursing under my breath I look window to window, mirror to mirror. My escorts fire back at three other vehicles. I snap to Jesse when I hear the crack of his revolver. To his left a truck dives in to pin him against my car’s side. He brakes hard, barely escaping.

I wasn’t so lucky.

I cling to the steering wheel to keep me in my seat as I’m rocked to the side. The escort pinned to my passenger door fires a shotgun at the driver of the truck pinning them. The truck goes wide, prepping for another hit. Foolishly the escort goes to reload rather then make their escape. Their cry of pain cut short by the clanging of their motorcycle against the doors of the cars. Handle bars bent. Legs crushed. They lose control. The motorcycle shimmies, weaving without guidance from its rider. One more slam sends the escort to the ground. My back tire easily goes over their body.

Around me the remaining escorts and Jesse try to fend off the ambushers. I weave and ram into those I can. Using the bulk of my vehicle to do as much damage as possible. Jesse and his fellow rebels shoot out tires. Bangs that blast the truck of the road into rocky desert sands.

My passenger window takes a shot point blank. I shout and try to cover the side of my face on instinct. The window holds but won’t for long. A steel hook chips its way into the glass. I make out the silhouette of the truck braking, ripping my window with it. Hot heat and dust gush in. I wrench the wheel hard to the right, placing myself in front of the truck. I strain my ears to pick out the rumble of the motorcycles, the thunderous snap of Jesse’s revolver. Eyes unable to open fully against the onslaught of glass and dust.

I hear only the motorcycles.

Repetitive _whams_ jolt my head to find the source, to Jesse beating the butt of his revolver into the face of a man trying to aim an automatic rifle at me, knocking the barrel up and away. I flinch with each burst of ratta-tat-tat.

There is no where for me to go. The barren landscape provides no safe retreat. There will be no out running them.

I blare my horn warning the rebels. They scatter away. I stomp my foot on the brake, pulling the emergency brake in time. My ride spins knocking into one of the trucks, tires screeching, smoke shrouding me. I rocket out facing the opposite direction, my escort down to three working to turn around as I fly pass them. Jesse’s back tire spinning in place, smoke swirling around him, boot on the ground to leverage the motorcycle around before shooting off to follow me.

We need help.

“Hades open a secure channel!”

“This better be—” I don’t allow the voice to finish it’s sentence.

“AMBUSH! CAN’T SHAKE—” I scream into the air hoping Gabriel will hear it. I’m cut off when my rear windshield shatters. Hoping he will notify Deadlock.

Hoping they will send help. The crates protect me from taking bullets to the back.

I say a prayer to any beings listening. My back-tire pops from a lucky shot.

The ruptured tire slows me just enough for the two Los Muertos trucks to catch up. It re-inflates just as one rams be from behind. The other speeds past to block my path.

Jesse fires at the truck ahead of us. A head snaps back before the body attached slumps forward over the side of the truck bed, weapon clattering on the asphalt.

He slides in front of me seeking cover to reload. He takes the time to empty his cylinder of spent shells. They glimmer as they drop to the road.

My face bangs into the steering wheel, another ram from behind lurching me forward.

“JESSE!” My call gives him just enough time to accelerate so I don’t run him over. I’m driven forward by the truck behind me.

We fall right into their trap.

The truck ahead lines itself up perfectly to sandwich him and me between the truck behind us. 

My breath catches in my throat. He doesn’t have the space or time to slip out of the way.

He is going to be crushed.

He’ll fall from the motorcycle.

Go under my tires.

Coldness settles in my chest.

I can’t see his eyes when he looks back at me.

Only the reflection of terror on my face.

The front end of my car slams into his back tire.

He goes flying.

Time slows.

I scream his name.

His body arches into the air.

Jesse lands on the hood of my car. Scrambling. I thrust my hand out jamming the switch to open the sunroof.

I’m sucking in air in giant gulps while he climbs over the windshield. My arms locked at the elbow keep the rest of my body from jamming to steering wheel, the truck at my rear driving me over Jesse’s motorcycle wedging me between the trucks. Keeping the goods intact is the only reason I haven’t been run off the road yet.

Stuck, I reach blindly behind my seat. My fingers snatch a spare strap for securing the crates. I do a shoddy job of wrapping it around the passenger seat before chucking it out the sunroof. the winch at the end ignores the wind and tumbles to Jesse.

He uses it to tether himself to the car. Letting it slacken in his grasp to round house kick a Los Muertos member trying to climb from the truck onto my hood.

Behind me Los Muertos take aim, firing at me and Jesse. I hunch over seeking the meager cover the crates provide me. Jesse has a hand on the edge of the sunroof, toe of his boot on my windshield, trying to shove himself into the opening.

Gunfire peppers the back hatch and along the roof. One shot hits its mark. Jesse’s head snaps backward the rest of his body following in a dive slipping down my windshield back to the hood. His left spur catches on the back lip of the hood. He moves his arms in wide swipes, reaches up and yanks his helmet off, the front shattered. He roars jumping to his feet, leaping over the windshield, past the sunroof and onto the truck behind me.

Using the helmet as a club he swings again and again making their windshield a shattered mess.

Unable to see the truck slows and veers off. Jesse leaps again, returning to me. He reloads his revolver. Armed with my gunslinger I accelerate, weaving to make him a harder target to hit.

The truck in front buckles when red paints the inside of the driver side windshield. I brake to avoid rear ending it. Jesse rolls back to the hood, hair flying wild in the wind.

We aren’t allowed time for him to climb back up or a moment to catch our breath. The truck Jesse wrecked with his helmet did the smart thing and kicked their busted windshield out. They catch us on the side. Jesse slides further down the hood using his hands to brace himself from going off and under the car.

A slam sends me into a tail spin. Clouds of dirt kick up when I leave the road, trying to regain control.

I hear Jesse shout.

I can’t see him.

Everything stills. The frame of the car settling into place with a gentle sway as I come to full stop.

I can only hear the beating of a heart and my lungs sucking down air. Frozen in place by the sight of my empty hood. Deep grooves trailing off the front end.

I don’t notice my door opening.

I hit the ground hard, thrown from my seat.

I curl to protect my middle from the hits I’m open to. My eyes stay uncovered, staring at the space where Jesse was flung.

“Looks like we got ourselves a prize!” A hand clasps around the back of my neck pulling my head up. I spit in their face. I swing my hand up to hit, I’m blocked, but the dirt in my hand continues into their eyes. They recoil.

Grunting, clutching my side I dig my knees and the toe of my shoe into the ground. My push off was wobbly and weak. I barely get to my feet to start running. I’m snatched back by an arm snaking around my middle. I throw my elbows back into the ribs of the person holding me to hit metal. I cry out, pain shooting down my forearms, nerves telling my muscles to spasm.

“Resisting will only further injure yourself, Deadlock scum.”

The omnic lefts me. I still struggle in their mechanical hold. Stall. I need to stall. I flail my hands around searching for an opening in its carapace like chest. Where the neck and head meet. Along the shoulder joints. I find a wiring harness finally and pull. The omnic sputters and buzzes. It’s hold only tightens. My lungs are squeezed of any air, ribs creaking under the pressure. I only see the laughing faces of the ambushers. Their brightly painted faces becoming my focus as darkness edges into my vision.

“Draw.” 


End file.
